Snapshots
by 0melting.snow0
Summary: Insights in how it began, how it took place, how it ended.


**Snapshots**

She was sitting in the conference room, the headphones of his iPod on her ears: she was running away from the noises of the world around her. It was late. Long after midnight, but she still was working. Of course...Work was the only thing that could distract her, make her forget…

He stares at her fragile form right through the glass walls. Snow white skin, nearly transparent. Dark circles under her eyes and clothes which seem to became baggier each day. He asks himself if she would ever tell him the truth. Each day she seemed to be falling apart a bit more and she didn't leave him much of a choice so all he could do was watch.

He pressed his cane on the door, pushing it open and hobbled slowly into the room. She couldn't hear him, didn't want to hear him. Didn't want to hear anything. Music was all around. His music. Him. She could almost feel is warm breath burning her skin. He was staring at his iPod, not able to leave a snarky comment, not right now, not to her anymore. So he just stared. Her tired, lifeless eye's finally connected with his and he couldn't force himself to say something, so all she could do was to go on with the work. So much left to do.

He opened his mouth, wanted to say something, wanted to know what was happening to her, but his jaw was set. There was nothing left to say. It was time to go home.

--

Something was missing. He haven't been drinking in his office for weeks, but right now he was staring at a nearly empty bottle of scotch. He scanned the conference room and stopped at her transparent form. She was the only one who would ever show up this early. She was currently sorting his mail. She grabbed her coffee and he could see the tremor in her hand. As a doctor he could place these signs. A body, which became weaker with every passing day.

Lost in his thought's he stares at the bottle. Single malt scotch. If she enjoys drinking it? After all it's nothing ordinary...His eyes are mesmerized by the brown liquor and he just noticed that he doesn't care. The bottle finds its way right into the trash and when she is sitting in his office this evening and is opening the drawer she's irritated by the new bottle. All she could do is smirk. His ignorance is pure bliss.

--

He found the pills one day in her desk. Not that he was curious. Well, in the end, he was extremely eager to know every little detail about her but he hadn't thought it would be this easy. He had thought she would be a little bit more creative if it comes to hiding places. After all she works with him for a while.

When she finds him at her desk her eye's seem to lit up for a second. Maybe she thanks god. Now she doesn't need to hide anything anymore. At least not in front of him.

"Temodal...", he says calmly.

She nods.

He doesn't need another confession.

--

To her birthday he throw's a bunch of Iris's at her.

"I love Iris's..."

"I know..."

--

It was Cuddy who was calling him into her office, as she came to work more rarely. This woman was always able to surprise him. He thought Cuddy knew. She was asking him what was going on with his female duckling. The first time in his life he was able to keep a secret to himself.

He just stared at Cuddy, even if she was trying to force him to do his clinic duty. There was much more. Suspension. And abrogation. He kept his mouth shut and just stared at her.

--

Four month and she wasn't herself anymore. Just a shadow of the woman she used to be. She couldn't walk by herself and needed help even if she was just going to use the toilet. Nobody knew why she came to the hospital in the end. Nobody except for her and him. He had yelled and at some place she'd understood.

Nobody asked why House wasn't visiting her, they were accepting it and she didn't care at all.

At night when nobody was around and there was always the same nurse on call he sat by her bed. They were alone and that was the way they wanted it to be. Nobody saw them. Not the soft touches. Not her tears. Not him, holding her hand when he was promising her that the pain would subside some time soon. She knew he was lying and was facing away from him, so he didn't see her. Why?

Therapy had already weeks ago terminated any kind of hair from her head.

--

The end was pure bliss. He was there. She was there. Nothing more needed.

--

He didn't go to the funeral, he never had seen any sense in saying goodbye to a corpus. Wilson told him about. Cuddy's tears. Chase's breakdown. Foreman's lifeless face. Her family? She never had one. Another secret she shared with him on her way through hell.

How he'd celebrated it? Just like he always did. A bottle of Single malt scotch and 20 mg morphin, iv.

--

He visited her just once, stared hat the grey stone, a bunch of Iris's in his hand. The earth was wet, it had rained a lot in the night before. He got down on his knee's, a sharp pain shot through his thigh, but he choose to ignore it. He placed the flowers on the grave.

He didn't know who was in a better place right now.

He left this place, where the ghosts seemed to scratch his soul. A last touch. A silent goodbye.

**The End**

A/N: Okay, English isn't my language. Actually I'm from Germany and I feel really crappy about uploading this because I have no beta. So please, just don't laugh. I know it's silly, but it's the way I am. roll eyes Please, be gentle and I'm still looking for a beta. :(


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